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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775668">Forgotten</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteForLife/pseuds/WriteForLife'>WriteForLife</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Gen, Memory Alteration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:07:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteForLife/pseuds/WriteForLife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>MC wakes up in a hospital with no memory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forgotten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This idea came to me while I was mowing the lawn one morning. I posted it on my Tumblr, as well. There are a few cosmetic changes from that version, because I wasn't trying to get it out of my brain before it disappeared.</p><p>Background: takes place some time after Solomon brings MC back to the Devildom</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                You woke up in a hospital bed, and immediately started crying. No idea why, and certainly no clue where you were.</p><p>                Fortunately, a nurse was in the room at that moment, and was immediately at your bedside.</p><p>                A sweet, older woman, she takes your hand and pats it gently, stroking your hair.</p><p>                “There, there, Y/N, it’s okay. You’re safe from whatever happened to you. Do you remember anything?”</p><p>                She uses a soft tissue to dry the tears on your cheeks, hands you another to take care of your dripping nose.</p><p>                You wrack your brain for several moments, then look to meet her soft gaze, and shake your head, terrified.</p><p>                “It’s okay,” she soothed, “you don’t have to try and force yourself. You worried a lot of people when you disappeared. They’ve been searching for months.”</p><p>                “Disappeared?” Your voice is ragged, your throat sore.</p><p>                “Mm-hm. Witnesses said a man with silvery hair greeted you like a friend, and then the two of you just disappeared into thin air. Police were never able to find any clues about what happened to you. There were a few seconds of cc-tv video, but they had no idea how to describe how you were snatched. In the blink of an eye, you went from waving to screaming to gone.” She shook her head. “After a few weeks, the active search was called off, because the window of time in which you would have been found alive closed. People were afraid you were never going to be seen again.”  She smiled in wonder, stroking your head again. “And then, like a miracle, you reappeared. Unconscious, a little the worse for wear, but alive.”</p><p>                Following her gaze, you finally notice the bandages around your arms, and you can feel others on other parts of your body.</p><p>                There are so many questions flying through your mind now, but you can’t latch onto any of them, and you just stare at the nurse, uncomprehending.</p><p>                “Your family is on their way to you, right now. It’s a bit of a distance for them to come, and you were just found last night. Would you maybe like to try and eat something?”</p><p>                You don’t really feel hungry, but nod your head anyway, and start to take stock of yourself as she leaves the room.</p><p>                You notice intricate markings in several places on your body – the inside of your right wrist, on each hip, on your left shoulder, the inside of your right thigh, your stomach. Your lower back itches, and when you reach back to rub the area, you feel the raised lines of a seventh design.</p><p>                You were tracing the lines of the mark on your wrist when the nurse returned with a tray of food.</p><p>                “Those are lovely tattoos,” she remarked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any like that before. What do they mean?”</p><p>                Your nose stung, and tears started to fall again.</p><p>                “I don’t know,” you choke out. “I… feel like they’re important, but I don’t know why…”</p><p>                “Oh, honey, don’t worry! It’ll probably all come back to you in time. I imagine that whatever you went through while you were gone, it was pretty traumatic. Your brain is just trying to protect itself right now. Unfortunately, that means that both the bad and the good memories are currently blocked. Give yourself time.”</p><p> </p><p>                A few weeks later, you’re home. The burns and cuts and scrapes and bruises have all healed. You’re seeing a therapist who is trying to help you recover some portion of what turns out to be nearly eighteen months of missing memories. They’ve recommended that you start journaling, writing down anything that seems relevant.</p><p>                In the meantime, life moves on.</p><p>                For the most part, all is well. There’s still a yawning cavity of emptiness inside, and you’re unable to discover any reason behind it, but you learn to live with it.</p><p>                On a handful of days, you wake up engulfed in an inordinate sadness. Soul deep and crushing. On those days, you can’t even get out of bed, the weight of it squeezing the breath from your body.</p><p>                And you don’t know why.</p><p>                After a few years, it occurs to you to look back through your journals, and you realize it happens on the same six days.</p><p>                March 11</p><p>                April 09</p><p>                May 15</p><p>                June 06</p><p>                September 10</p><p>                October 20</p><p>                Every year on these days, heartbreak holds you paralyzed, missing something you can’t identify.</p><p>                And still, all these years later, you have no idea why.</p><p>                And still, time doesn’t stop its inexorable march.</p><p> </p><p>                You’re older now. Maybe you married and had kids, who are now nearing the age you were when those eighteen months of missing time happened.</p><p>                Maybe you never married, knowing somehow deep down, your heart always belonged to someone else.</p><p>                One day, you’re at your local market, slowly perusing the aisles to find the items to fill your list, and you notice a man staring at you, his dark eyes intense.</p><p>                He’s breathtakingly beautiful, and your heart speeds up. Tall, broad shoulders and a slim waist, raven hair that’s lighter on the ends. Dressed far too elegantly to be hanging out in a grocery store. Physically speaking, couldn’t be more than thirty, though he gives off an ambience of agelessness.</p><p>                “Can I help you?” You ask, your head tilting to one side.</p><p>                A tiny smile flashes across his handsome face, as if in recognition of your habit, and he searches your face, hopeful.</p><p>                After a moment, and almost imperceptibly, his shoulders fall.</p><p>                “I apologize,” he sighs with a small shake of his head. His voice is deep and sonorous, and your heart speeds up even more, as if somehow, it recognizes this man, longs for him, while your brain stubbornly remains blank on his identity.</p><p>                “You simply reminded me of someone I love dearly, who was lost to me many years ago.”</p><p>                He gives you a nod and walks slowly past you and down the aisle, the scent of his cologne at once comfortingly familiar and absolutely unknown.</p><p>                Your heart is doing flip-flops in your chest, as though trying to get you to somehow know the man; pounding a million miles an hour, and it’s all you can do to remain standing as your emotions whirl and you feel something fluttering at the farthest edges of your mind.</p><p>                Eventually, long after his footsteps have faded and his scent dispersed, you’re able to finish your shopping trip and return home.</p><p>                You spend the evening so deep in thought that you don’t even eat, tracing the mark on your wrist as you stare out at the night, heedless of the tears that roll down your face.</p>
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